The great thing about Third Angel is that you never know what you are going to get – a recent show featured company members industriously assembling model aeroplanes – though what you get in this piece is the surprisingly mundane spectacle of three blokes sitting round a shared flat. One has some forthright opinions and is a bit of a bully; one is taciturn and Portuguese (the show is a co-production with Lisbon's Mala Voadora), and, in a sole concession to theatricality, the third stands in a corner thrashing at an electric guitar and singing wordy, anguished songs like a Manic Street Preachers fan at an open-mic night.

In the time-honoured tradition of men with nothing better to do, they amuse themselves by advancing impractical theories (a proposed solution to global warming is for the elderly and infirm to drink a litre of seawater every day), and trade urban myths of dubious veracity, such as the fact that the zebras in a Gaza zoo are really donkeys painted black and white.

Unsurprisingly, this compendium of pub philosophy doesn't amount to much. The company states in a rehearsal blog that it was keen to avoid falling into the trap of simply calling foreigners funny, yet includes a section dedicated to the observation that North Korea "is like a safety valve for the world's weirdness".

The most alienating aspect is the uncharacteristically charmless tone in which the material is presented. The situation in the sinking Maldives will hardly be alleviated by an experimental theatre company inviting the population to "fuck off"; nor victims of African atrocities aided by the observation that "they could just run away".

Third Angel has produced some heavenly work in the past – it's less pretty when they choose to sneer.